


Queen's Jack

by joy_shines



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Torchwood
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, It's good to be the Queen, Narnians have great sex, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Safer Sex, Time Travel, not quite at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy Pevensie, though once and always a Queen in Narnia, is just another teenager in England. Just another teenager who was once a full-grown woman. And who still remembers everything. She meets a man who has also seen and lost other, beautiful worlds, and for a few moments, she feels like Queen Lucy once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen's Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I just love them a lot.

Lucy had been noticing the jovial, clean-cut boy - no, man, certainly a man! - at regular intervals all evening. He was one of those delightful people who bring light to a room merely by being in it - he was having such an infectiously good time that it wasn’t just the girls he danced with who were smiling wider and laughing louder. It was a fine party, all swishing skirts and spiked punch, but Lucy had been content to watch from her seat at the side of the room. It was almost too beautiful, really, to be a regular English party. All the laughter and flirtation put her in mind of the romps in the Narnian woods...the boys, wily satyrs, nimble-footed and ruddy, the girls, radiant maenads, hair unbound and feet stomping in ecstasy. Of course, there, glimpses and touches between satyr and satyr and nymph and nymph were commonplace. Here, that sort of thing simply didn’t happen.

“And more’s the pity!” Lucy thought, “These lads are certainly quite handsome...oh!” The laughing man had just given a wink, over his dancing partner’s shoulder, to a pretty boy.

“Oh, surely not! I have had too much punch, for certain.” But  there it was again, unmistakably! The man was smiling at another boy, this one seated on the sidelines, without a partner.

“Oh, Aslan!” Lucy gasped, under her breath, “Can it be true?” She felt suddenly warm, too warm to attribute it to the punch, flushed all over, and she felt her inmost heart straining to touch the past before it slipped away. As it must. As it always had.

“Excuse me,” a charming, American voice said, quite close to her ear, “you seem to be in some _ahem_ distress, miss?” Lucy opened her eyes, jaw slack, and simply reached out one hand to touch the man’s graceful jawline.

“Oh, you’re real!” she cried, as she found his cheek warm and soft beneath her fingers. She drew back quickly, bringing herself back to England, to propriety and custom. “I...you must pardon me, sir. I believe I have had too much of the punch and am a bit overheated. I shall, um, shall just step out for a breath of fresh air. Please forgive my rudeness.” The man smiled at her, and Lucy’s heart ached to see the warmth and mischief in that smile. “Oh, Bacchus would have had you outside the circle and stripped to your knickers in no time flat,” she thought, rising from her chair.

The man caught her arm, “You look a little shaky, doll - please permit me to accompany you outside.”

“I, um, that’s very kind of you, sir, but I assure you, I’m quite alright. And I...erm...would not like to keep you from your...other interests,” she replied, with a pointed glance at the boy seated against the wall. The man’s eyes widened in - Lucy thought - something like admiration.

“You’ve got some sharp eyes! I assure you, my dear, I have lots of interests. And you,” he leaned in quite close, breath hot on Lucy’s ear, the deliciously male scent of him heavy around her, “lady, are at least as interesting as those boys. And a lot more perceptive.” Lucy clutched his arm, willing him to just cross the room and get them both outside, where she might be able to speak. Perhaps.

Once outside, and safely against a railing, the man let go of Lucy’s arm as she braced herself on the rail and drew a long, slow breath. The man grinned, and Lucy thought that he must know everything about her, every thought in her head, and every throb in her loins, to smile like that.

“Now that you can breathe a bit more easily, let me introduce myself. I’m Jack. Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.” Of course he would be a military man - as close as she would find to a knight in this land where chivalry was relegated to legend and the mythic glory of war thoroughly disproved in reality. She took his offered hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Jack. I’m Lucy. Lucy Pevensie.” He cocked his head to one side.

“Well, Lucy Pevensie, I am very glad to meet you. Not one in a hundred Englishwomen would have spotted my...um...interests as you call them. I’d say you’re a modern woman of the world - ahead of your time, even - but, if you’ll pardon me, the way you blush just from holding my hand here suggests that you’re quite ah, untouched.” Lucy shivered, bowing her head.

“I...I was quite a woman of the world once, sir. But that was long ago, and in another land...”

“And, anyway, the wench is dead?” Lucy laughed.

“Yes, I suppose you might say that. Yes, indeed. It was, it seems, another lifetime.” She bit her lip, and looked away as all the old desires, old dreams came flooding back. His hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Lucy, you’re not old enough for it to have been ‘another lifetime’ - you’re what, eighteen?”

“Sixteen. Sixteen, sir...”

“Call me Jack, Lucy, otherwise I’ll have to call you ‘my lady,’ and my Chaucer is too rusty to go down that path.” Lucy laughed again, pulled out of her reverie. “That’s better. If you’ll pardon my saying so, you have the look of a person who has seen and experienced strange things...you look like you belong to” and here Jack gave a small, pregnant pause, “another sort of world.”

Lucy looked up at him sharply, and Jack’s eyebrows ascended towards his hairline, “Ohhh...”

“Jack Harkness, are you in earnest? If you are mocking me, I swear...”

“Lucy, I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve seen and lost, but I can tell you - I’ve seen other worlds too. I’ve lived other lives, and lost the people and places that made them dear to me. You can trust me.” Lucy crumpled onto Jack’s chest, releasing a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Yes. Yes, but I can’t talk about it here. I simply can’t. Do you...by the Lion, Jack, please don’t misread this...but do you have a room? And perhaps  a bottle of red wine?” He flashed his impish grin, and led her off into the night.

There was, it turned out, a small, but neat, flat and two bottles of a good Bordeaux. Lucy sipped at her glass slowly, remembering. “It needs a little sugar and cinnamon, clove, and orange peel to make it perfect, but ahh, this hits the spot.” She was seated on the only chair in the room, while Jack sat, no, reclined on his bed.

“So, Lucy, tell me about your other world.” Lucy's eyes slipped closed as she started the story of the curious wardrobe, “and this must sound horribly silly to you, Jack...a whole world inside a wardrobe...”

“Oh, no, love, I’ve known places that were bigger on the inside than they seemed on the outside,” he assured her, eyes alight. Those same eyes were large and solemn when she recounted the Lion’s sacrifice, and ablaze with a strange understanding when she told of his return.

“And so, we grew up there in Narnia, the four of us.” Lucy set her nearly-empty wineglass down on the table, leaning towards Jack. Even in the dim light of his one lamp, he could see the flush of color in her cheeks. “And let me tell you, Captain, growing up in that country was utterly different from growing up here. There was a Bacchanalia in honor of my sixteenth birthday, my coming-of-age! The nymphs - pardon me, Jack - took me out into the woods and fed me wine and venison for a week when I began my monthly courses! I lived there until I was twenty-three years old. I helped rule a kingdom. I have killed men in battle. I had taken more lovers before I left Narnia than most of my girlfriends will ever have in their lifetimes. I lived a life where pleasure was good, and my body - and all it was capable of - was Aslan’s gift to me. I lived without shame.”

Jack was sitting up now, leaning forward so that his face was only inches from hers. “What happened?” he breathed, taking one of her hands in his. She gripped it tightly, and dropped her eyes.

“He sent us back. He sent us back, Jack. I was a woman full-grown in Narnia, and when we stumbled back through the wardrobe door, I was eight years old. Eight. A child. I had to grow up all over again! In England.” Lucy shuddered. “I didn’t forget. Not any of it. My body changed - I was truly a child, physically. I don’t know how I would have borne it if my body had been capable of...of desiring the things I desired as Queen Lucy. But, Jack,” she looked up at him, her face contorted in pain, “do you know how much shame is heaped on girls? And boys too...but, Mane of Aslan! it’s disgraceful how girls are made to feel such shame for their bodies and desires. Puberty is hellacious in this land.”

“I cursed Aslan for sending us back, cursed him with all my might, for months after we got back. I didn’t mean it - I was just so hurt, and confused. Why give me all that beauty, for so long, only to strip it away? But...I talked with the Professor about it. He’d been there too, you see, in his youth. He asked me whether I’d rather have had all my time in Narnia, and lost it, or to never have had it at all.”

“And of course, you’d rather have had it and lost?” Lucy smiled, toying with Jack’s hand.

“Now, that’s how I know you’ve been to other worlds too. Of course I would rather have had it all and lost it than never to have known all that...all that breadth of experience. All that love.” Lucy grasped Jack’s hand with both of hers and suddenly looked very serious. “Because, Jack, you must understand that as much as I talk about the queenship and the parties and...well, you’re a man of the world...the wonderful sex I had in Narnia, the important part was the love. It wouldn’t have been anything without...without...”

“Without Him?” Jack said softly.

“Yes. Oh, yes...” her eyes were shining with tears now. “Of course, He’s here too. That’s what makes this world so beautiful. It’s funny, really. In spite of everything, this world seems more beautiful than it did before I went to Narnia...but, oh, oh, it’s still so hard sometimes.”

There was a moment of silence as Jack stroked Lucy’s hand, and kissed it. “So, now you’re back here in stuffy old England, fully sixteen years old with no Bacchus to throw a party for you. But, as you say, He’s everywhere...”

“Oh, then you know Him too, Jack? You’ve seen Him?”

“No, sweetheart, but I know enough of the wide, wide universe to know that there are many things we don’t understand, and that Love, in all of its forms and glory, is, indeed, everywhere. No matter what Name it goes by. And, in my experience, we feel and access that Love through connecting with other people. So, yes, light-filled Lucy, it’s all about Love. And,” Jack grasped her hands tighter and looked into her eyes, “I swear to you, there will be a day when humans on this earth can love and share pleasure almost as easily as the maenads and satyrs do. But that day is a long way off, and the boys - and girls - of your England...”

“...would faint dead away at the idea of a nice girl like me asking a good friend - to say nothing of a total stranger - for a roll in the hay?” Jack chuckled.

“Exactly. I see you’ve thought this through.”

“Many times...with considerable regret. But...” Lucy’s voice lowered, becoming husky. She hesitated, then seemed to find her resolve, “I will not be ashamed of this. Jack, you’re clearly not a man of this time, of this world. You haven’t fainted away at hearing of all my scandalous behavior. Will you...would you want to...find pleasure with me here tonight?” The next instant, Jack was kneeling on the floor in front of Lucy’s chair, cupping her face with his hand.

“Oh, Lucy, I have already found pleasure with you tonight. But yes, I would love,” and his eyes traveled the length of Lucy’s form, admiring, assenting, “to enjoy ourselves together, in whatever way you would like.” Lucy moved to kiss him, but he stopped her with gentle fingers, “I warn you, I can’t stay forever.  I don’t know the day or the hour, as they say, but, like you, I’ll eventually have to go. I may not be able to tell you goodbye. For as long as I am here, I am yours. But you will lose me, just as you lost Narnia.”

Lucy’s lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “I give thanks to Aslan for the time we have, then.”

* * *

Jack had learned long ago that no matter how many times he engaged in physical intimacy with another person, each experience, each partner, each combination of movements and sensations was unique. Still, he found himself amazed and delighted by Lucy’s responses. From the moment their lips touched, her hands were all over him, devouring his shape, his heat. All the power of years of unsated hunger combined with adolescent hormones in a cocktail of novelty and familiarity.

“Oh, please, Jack, it’s been so very long,” she breathed, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When she succeeded in divesting him of his clothing, she paused, admiring him. The steady heat of her gaze almost had him blushing - him, Jack Harkness! Recovering nearly-coherent thought, he pulled her towards him, and guided them both onto his bed. Lucy reached for his face, but he caught her hands and shook his head.

“You’ve gotten to admire me...it’s only fair that I should have the same opportunity.” Lucy grinned.

“Well, Captain Harkness, there’s a mirror on your washstand if you need to play Narcissus for a bit...oh!” Lucy’s expression changed as Jack slid his hands up under her blouse, easing it off. Her skirt, stockings, and shoes soon followed, and then it was Jack’s turn to sit and look. She lay there, receiving his gaze with her own wide eyes, her golden hair catching the lamplight. Her breathing was slow and heavy, and the air between them seemed to shimmer with the energy of their desire, growing tighter and more intense with each inhale. Jack lost himself there, in the breath, in the curves of her flesh, until he noticed a wetness to her shining eyes.

“Are you alright? I...Lucy, we can stop if you like...”

“No, no, Jack. It’s just...no one has looked at me like that since Narnia. I have not felt this much like Queen Lucy in a very, very long time. Please, please, Jack, come touch me.”

He eased into bed, sliding his body alongside hers. She trembled, and pulled his face to hers. As they kissed, Jack felt her undulations, the rhythmic pressure against his thigh. Then her hand, small and sure, was sliding down his hip, determined.

“Jack, please tell me you have a johnny...ah!...they, oh! won’t let me buy them...” Jack caught her hand, guiding it to his chest.

“Gorgeous, I am never without them.” Then, as Lucy seemed ready to spring up from the bed and start ransacking drawers, he added, “But there’s no hurry...we should probably start slow. After all, it’s been years - and a lot of physical changes - since you last did this.”

“Hmph. I’m not a wilting flower, Jack. I don’t have to be handled delicately...I won’t faint at a little pain.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Jack slid one hand into Lucy’s hair, grasping at the nape of her neck and pulling, “But, your majesty, I will not risk harming you by going too fast. And I won’t compromise on that. I will fuck you,” Lucy’s eyes shot open at the word, “as long as you would like, but not until I am convinced that your body, not just your luscious mind, is ready. Is that acceptable?”

Lucy nodded wildly, but Jack didn’t release her hair until she stammered, “Ye-yess.”

Jack learned, very quickly, that Lucy was fairly desperate for touch. She pressed right up against him, along the smooth lines of his body, seemingly content as long as his arms encircled her or his hands stroked through her hair. Her own hands wandered over his face, the planes of his back and arse, as she continued to kiss him thoroughly, only stopping when Jack pulled back enough to kiss and bite at her neck and ears. She keened in protest at the loss of his touch when he moved down her body to kiss and bite up her inner thighs, but sank into the bed with a contented moan as Jack stretched his arms up, around her torso, nails just pressing into her sides, as he made his way closer to her center. 

When he parted her with his fingers, trailing his tongue up towards her clit, Lucy's nails sank into his arms, anchoring herself. When he began, carefuly, to slide one finger into her - finding her snug, but not so tight that he worried about harming her - she groaned low and rich, rolling her hips, inviting more. Once here, she did not crest with urgency, but rode his fingers and tongue with abandon and assurance - the lush unselfconsciousness of a woman who thoroughly knows her body's pleasure, and is unworried about forcing or even finding any particular destination. 

The small voice in Lucy's head, threading its way through the wine-red haze of pleasure, noted that Jack made love like a river god, flowing unhurried against her, lapping tides and the ebb and flow of liquid thrusts. Any worries she had been harboring about coming back to this pastime after so long evaporated under Jack's capable hands. Her pleasure mounted and flowed, eventually crashing over her - and she surrendered to it wholeheartedly, as one surrenders to the waves, to the sea. 

When her eyes opened again, Jack's face was in front of her own, his fingers drawing soft circles on her belly. 

"Oh, please Jack. Please don't make me wait any longer. Please."

Jack considered teasing her a while longer, exploring more of her reactions - but, if the Universe was kind, they would have more than enough time for that. With the ease of long practice, he slipped on the sheath, and entered her.

"Lion's Mane, Jack, that's good, so good. Oh, please, please..." Words continued to tumble from Lucy's lips as she rocked against him, arms and legs twining around him, but they had become some language Jack didn't even recognize. It sounded a bit like Finnish, and a bit like what he remembered from jaunts into medieval England...but was clearly not either. 

"Lucy, lovely Lucy," Jack groaned, keeping his movements slow and deep, "I can't hold out much longer, lady. I'm sorry..." 

Her eyes flew open as she gasped, clawing at his shoulders, "Yes, Jack. Come, my lord. Come for me, come..." and her words slid back into that strange, musical language, imploring, encouraging. Jack found himself tipping over the edge of pleasure, carried away.

Long moments later, the condom tied off and disposed of, Lucy was softly snoring against Jack's shoulder. She startled into wakefulness when the church bells chimed eleven o'clock.

"Welcome back, beautiful. I would apologize for my, er, lack of stamina - I can usually hold off longer than that - but you seem fairly well contented." Lucy blinked up at him with a sleepy, sated smile.

"Oh, Jack, that was wonderful! And...for all my bold words...perhaps it was better that we didn't prolong it. It's true that those muscles haven't been used in quite that way for some long time. I am not hurt, Jack," she added, noting his raised eyebrows and concerned look, "just a little sore. A delightful soreness that will be gone tomorrow." She sighed, "I really should be running home - otherwise there will be questions. I detest England, sometimes."

"I'd love for you to stay, but I understand you've got to go. But, when you've quite recovered, I hope you'll grace me with a chance to help us both increase our stamina and strength? I did not expect to find such a friend in this time and place."

Lucy flushed, and nodded, pulling Jack down for a kiss. "I would just love that, Jack. But also...I would like to...to see you out of bed more, as well. I would have never expected to find a friend like you in this world, either. I would like to know you better. And not _just_ in the biblical sense..."

"Of course. Tea tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Can we make that next week instead? I am meeting with...well, I can tell you about this. I'm meeting with the Friends of Narnia tomorrow, about some pressing business, and I may have to go away for a couple of days. But, I assure you, I will be more than recovered by the time I return, and ready for tea...and these other delights," she said, with a grin that _should_ have been wicked...but on her was only radiant.

"I'll be counting the days, Lucy. Be safe, and I'll see you soon." Her lips quirked up into a smile and she kissed him swiftly, and pulled on the last of her clothes.

"A Friend of mine once said, 'I call all times soon.' I hope your 'soon' is not the same as His."

"Our friends are quite alike. But no, Lucy, I count time like the rest of us humans do."

"That's good, Jack. I'll see you next week - take care of yourself till then!" With another of her quick smiles, she was out the door.

* * *

A week later, Jack had still had no luck telephoning Lucy. With another partner, he might assume that they had decided against a second meeting, but he knew Lucy's sense of honor would have demanded that she inform him. He was sitting in a tea shop, perusing the newspaper, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut telling him that something was wrong, very, very wrong.

**BRITISH RAILWAYS COLLISION - 12 DEAD**

He almost skimmed past the headline - he didn't need to read about another disaster - but the list of the dead caught his eye. He had thought he was past the point where death could move him to tears - after all, he had seen much greater losses, many greater atrocities, but his cheeks were wet. Neither his precious Doctor nor her glorious Lion had been able to save her.

The chilly London afternoon seemed even bleaker as he stumbled from the shop to his flat. Lucy, in all of her radiance and generosity, had been the brightest point in this whole lousy decade, and she was gone before he'd had a chance to truly know her. 

"The Queen is dead," he muttered, wiping his eyes, "Long live Queen Lucy of Narnia."

**Author's Note:**

> Since I was old enough to think about such things, I've always thought that there must be a lot of *really good sex* in Narnia (Bacchus! Nymphs!). And that that part of the transition back to England must have been particularly trying for the Pevensies - especially for Lucy. "The High King's Concubine" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/136141) was the first fic I'd seen that shared my view of sexuality in the Narnian world, and also resulted in the use of High Narnian in this work.


End file.
